


Run Away With Me

by Hekmugi



Category: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25277101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekmugi/pseuds/Hekmugi
Summary: An embittered Captain of the Guard meets a noble with a lust for adventure. When an outside threat prompts them to pursue their dreams, will it be worth the consequences?
Relationships: Badgerclops/Mao Mao Mao
Comments: 17
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first attempt at an AU. I will be introducing the intricacies of the world, its characters, and its conflicts as the story goes, but don't be afraid to ask any and all questions along the way! This story begins in the central location of Kingston, the Capital of the kingdom which Mao Mao and his family serves.

The tip of a quill tapped against the bottom of an inkwell. Mao Mao sighed, running a paw between his ears. His left hand was cramping already, and the stack of papers in front of him hadn’t gotten any smaller. Every time he started to be able to see the front door of his office again, the Quartermaster would arrive and deposit another fresh stack of invoices. Supposedly each new stack was more urgent than the last, but the documents that he had scanned so far all appeared to be equally unimportant.

_ North Gate Outpost #5 requests a new chair for the common room, on account of the previous article being left in the rain and rotting significantly. _

_ Kingston Barracks North requires three more bed frames to replace damages incurred from a recent drunken brawl on the fourth floor. _

_ Banner #9 along the 3rd section of the East Wall has become significantly tattered, and should be replaced with all due haste. _

Not one of these requests included new training equipment, nor were there any requests to perform any kind of drills. While he supposed that was something for the Army to practice, the Kingston Guard were the last line of defense. Therefore, they needed to be able to withstand any threat that made it this far. Instead, he found himself rubber-stamping meaningless maintenance requests, as if that were the epitome of his skills.

Once more Mao Mao signed his name and set the message aside. He grabbed another paper from the top of the pile, which now stretched to the tips of his ears, and set it on his desk. He skimmed over the contents, nothing catching his interest, and prepared to write his name. The sound of his door being opened caused his ears to twitch, but he suppressed his scant desire to look up, knowing that if it were the god-forsaken Quartermaster with  _ yet another _ stack of papers, he would likely lose his composure entirely.

“Captain Mao Mao?”

Mao Mao’s ears twitched again, his dour expression softening as he words reached him. The voice was not the Quartermaster's, giving him faint hope of a reprieve from his dreary duty. He looked up expectantly, only to see a humble courier standing at the other end of the room. His eyes lowered and his mouth curled into a slight frown, feeling the last of his false hope drain from his face.

“Yes?”

“A missive has come for you,” he began, grabbing an ornate envelope from his mail bag. The ruby-red wax seal stood out against the golden paper, adorned across the middle with a thin white ribbon.

“Yes, I can see that,” Mao Mao grumbled, setting down his quill, “now are you going to bring it to me or just stand there like an invalid?”

“R-right, sorry, sir,” the courier stuttered, walking towards the Captain’s desk. Peering down at him from over the stack of papers, he gave Mao Mao a nervous smile and set the letter on top of the pile.

Without breaking eye contact, Mao Mao dragged a paw across the top of the pile and gripped the letter. With his other paw, he reached into his desk and pulled out a silver coin. Exchanging the letter for the currency, Mao Mao reclined in his chair and gazed idly at the envelope.

“Is that all?” Mao Mao asked.

“Yes,” the courier nodded, taking the tip, “many thanks, sir. Bless ‘ye.”

Mao Mao nodded, waving him away with his free hand. After he heard the door shut, he leaned forward in his chair and reached for his pen knife. The small blade, filed down and sharpened to the point of being more of a dagger than a letter-opener, rasped against its slot on the corner of his desk. The fine, polished steel blade gleamed in the afternoon sun as he held it aloft. Bringing its edge to the envelope, Mao Mao severed the ribbon with a flick of his wrist, then slashed the top of the envelope away. The shredded paper floated to the desk, cleanly sliced. Mao Mao set the pen knife on the table and slid the letter onto his free paw.

Shaking the letter open, Mao Mao reclined in his chair and read its contents aloud.

“Dear son…” Mao Mao began, furrowing his brow. A letter from his father. “As you know, I am a very busy man…  _ blah, blah, blah _ ,” Mao Mao muttered, skipping to the end of the paragraph. “Therefore, you would do the Mao Family great honour if you were to attend tomorrow’s gala in my stead.”

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Mao Mao scanned the next section, which listed the location of the event and a short list of names to memorize. A party was being thrown at the estate of House Covington. According to the directions, it was a sizable mansion located in the countryside to the east. It was no more than half an hour’s ride by carriage from the East Gate, which meant he would have plenty of time to prepare.

“Shame...” Mao Mao mused, smirking at the signature at the bottom of the letter, “and here I was hoping I would finally be receiving a call to lead a company of soldiers.”

Setting the letter aside and bringing his paws together, he stared at the stack of papers in front of him. He looked to the letter, then back to the stack. A gear turned in his head, and a devious smile began to creep across his face. Snatching the letter in his paw, Mao Mao stood up.

“But a chance to skip out on a day’s worth of busy work is the next best thing.”

Mao Mao raised his paws above his head as he yawned, stretching towards the window to his left.. The sunlight caught the brilliant white paint of his half-plate armor, causing the gilded crown in the center of his chestplate to shimmer. Flexing his gauntlets, Mao Mao undid a pouch of his bandolier. He refolded the letter and tucked it away, then sealed the pouch once more. He then brought his paws behind his back and billowed his silk, scarlett cape. Rounding the desk, Mao Mao moved with an audible clank of metal and stretching of leather. As he approached the door, he could already hear his subordinates on the other side begin to rise. It had taken a while to whip them into such a disciplined shape, but nothing brought a smile to his face like a well-trained garrison.

As Mao Mao stepped into the next room, the main area of the guard post he commanded, the half-dozen loitering guards stood at attention. The room was still aside from the sound of Mao Mao closing the door behind him. Turning to the guards, Mao Mao slowly cast his gaze over each of them. Each of them stood in place, statuesque with their heels together and their fists to their sides. Even though they all stood at least a head above him, each of them felt small under his stare. He grunted and said, “at ease” in as deep and as gruff of a tone as he could manage.

At the utterance of their Captain’s command, the guards set to work on their duties, or at least put up enough effort to make it seem like they were busy.

“You two,” Mao Mao said, pointing to the two tallest guards in the room. The canines, their blond fur neatly tucked within the leather wrappings of their armor, approached Mao Mao in a jog. Stopping a few paces away from him, the guards stood at attention as they awaited his order.

“There’s a stack of papers in my office. Instead of bringing them to the Quartermaster, I want you to...” Mao Mao cleared his throat, his eyes darting from side to side, “... _ lose them _ .”

“L...lose ‘em?” the left guard asked.

Mao Mao raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? You don’t like my order?”

“No, no, it’s not that, sir,” the guard on the right spoke up, “we’re jus’ worried about… well, if we lose ‘em, won’t we have to find ‘em?”

The left guard nodded.

Mao Mao rolled his eyes. “Then make sure they can’t be found.”

“Uh…” the left guard spoke again, “how should we go about…”

Mao Mao nudged his head towards the fireplace to his left. “I’ll leave that up to you,” he raised a paw, now pointing to his left, “but I can think of a couple good hiding spots. Understood?”

“Right,” the right guard said with a nod, “we’ll be sure to, uh,  _ lose _ the papers in the fireplace, yep. As you say, sir.”

“But,” the left guard spoke again, to Mao Mao’s annoyance, “won’t the Quartermaster get upset with us?”

“Probably,” Mao Mao nodded, “but I outrank him. What’s he going to do to you?”

“And-”

“And you saw me sign  _ all _ of them, right?” Mao Mao interrupted.

The left guard looked around, confused. “Did we?”   


  
“You did,” Mao Mao nodded, “so in the absence of written confirmation, I guess your memory of my consent will have to suffice. And, before you ask, I won’t be able to come in tomorrow to re-sign anything. I have a very important meeting to attend. That should be enough to force his hand. Any other questions?”

“No, sir,” the left guard said, clearly confused.

“Alright, very good,” Mao Mao smiled. “Dismissed.”

  
The guards saluted and went around him. With a satisfied hum, Mao Mao made his way to the front door and went outside.

Unfiltered sunlight bathed the Captain the moment his paws stepped onto the even cobblestone street of the main road. He glared towards the sun with a smile, bringing his arm to his forehead to shield his eyes. The streets were bustling with city-dwellers going to-and-fro. Adults carried produce in baskets, returning from the market. Children played street games, chasing one another as they darted between the small crowds that slowly meandered up the road. The occasional cart drove by, drawn by smaller, domesticated lizard monsters. It was a day like any other in the city of Kingston.

“It’s been a while since I was last fitted,” Mao Mao muttered to himself, patting a paw against his armored stomach, “I suppose now’s as good a time as ever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Mao Mao gets fitted for his suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks HauntedClock for beta'ing this work, which I will henceforth be referring to as 'chadding'. You are my beta-chad.

Mao Mao stared ahead, his arms held out to his sides. He had doffed his armor, which now sat on top of a pile of old fabrics. The room was cramped, with several rows of shelves stuffed with bolts of cloth, tapestries, and boxes of textiles. Cotton, silk, and hemp fabric spilled out of overstuffed containers, and scraps of discarded fabric congregated in piles that sat near each of the multiple sewing machines that were crammed in the front end of the room.

A seamstress emerged from behind the Captain, holding a band of measuring tape between her paws. The woman, standing a head over him, was a thin fox of orange-white fur and hazel eyes, wearing a shrewd expression. She carefully thumbed the markings on the tape as she completed a circle around his waist.

“You’re fat.”

Mao Mao’s ear twitched. “I’m sure I misheard you.”   
  


The woman sighed, coiling the tape around her wrist and pocketing it. “Your waist doesn’t lie, Captain. It looks like all those years of working in the city are finally getting to you.”

“Preposterous,” Mao Mao shook his head, letting his arms fall, “it’s just… excess fur. And some extra insulation from last winter. It’ll be gone in no time.”   
  
The seamstress smirked, crossing her arms. “Will it be gone by tomorrow?”   
  
“Well, erm, I suppose not…”

“Then I’m afraid you’re short on options. I can’t sew you a new garment in a day, you know?”

“Can’t you just loosen the seams?”

The seamstress laughed. “Mao Mao, if I snip another thread on your coat, it will fall to ribbons. I’m afraid you’ve simply outgrown your attire.”

Mao Mao shook his head. “Unacceptable. Surely there’s something else you can do?”

“Well,” the woman rubbed her chin, “there is one thing, though I fear it is a bit… unorthodox.”

“Will it get me into my coat?”

“It should, yes.”   
  


“Then you have my consent.”

Nodding, the seamstress held up a digit as she excused herself. She rummaged around, tossing some half-finished articles of clothing aside until she settled upon a crimson sash. She took the cloth in her arms and returned to the Captain.

“Alright, Mao Mao, suck in your stomach.”

Mao Mao clenched his abdomen, making it as concave as he could. His pudge lightened, making his stomach flat. The seamstress knelt down and began to wrap the sash tightly around the midsection. Pulling the cloth behind him on both ends, she fastened it together with a knot.

“Alright,” the woman nodded, “you can relax now.”

Mao Mao exhaled, causing the sash to strain. The knot held, halting his midsection slightly beyond the point of being flat. The seamstress admired her work, pulling at the knot to make sure it held. As the seconds turned to minutes, she decided that it would indeed suffice, and went to fetch the Captain’s coat.

“Alright, I think we’ve found our solution, Mao Mao,” she said, grabbing his formal wear from its hanger.   
  
“Surely,” Mao Mao strained, sounding short on breath, “you can’t expect me to go around like this? I can hardly breathe, let alone walk.”   
  
“Now you know how the ladies feel when they put on their corsets. Beauty is pain, Captain.”

  
“But how will I tie the knot? I can’t maintain this throughout the night!”

  
“Hm. Well, for being such a good sport, I’ll modify it a bit. I’ll sew in a metal hook and loop so you can fasten it like an undergarment.”

“Unbelievable,” Mao Mao scoffed, snatching his coat from the woman. He stuffed his arms into the jacket and buttoned each of the three buttons from the bottom. Despite the strain the sash caused on his stomach, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself able to button the jacket with minimal fuss. He brushed his paws over the jacket, trailing the faint gold-colored embroidery along the white silk. Each of his golden buttons shined in their facets, with no stretching to be found. He slowly lifted his arms above his head, watching his shoulder pads crumple as the coat lifted. Much to his delight, the coat maintained its form and showed no threat of any of the buttons popping.   
  
He looked around for a mirror, and found an upright one leaning against the far wall. Walking over to it, he inspected himself. The suit fit him as well as he felt it did, and the bright red fabric of the sash poked out from the bottom of the coat in a rather appealing way. He turned around a few times, his smile growing as he found his appearance to be more than acceptable. Standing with the mirror to his side, he ran his digits along the coat tails of his garment, feeling like he had just put on a new, fresh outfit.

“I haven’t looked this good in years,” Mao Mao said, turning towards the mirror and brushing a paw across his lapel.

“Happy to serve,” the woman said, walking over. She hooked a digit around a string of the sash’s knot and tugged on it, causing it to unravel. The lack of binding caused Mao Mao’s midsection to swell, stretching and finally popping the buttons on his jacket in sequence. The buttons smacked against the mirror like thrown stones and clacked on the wooden floor.

Mao Mao grabbed at his coat and pulled it around him, his face reddening. His ears drooped in annoyance as he glared at the seamstress.

“What was that for?!”

“Well, I have to modify the sash so you can wear it properly, Captain. I don’t know what the big fuss is.”

Mao Mao checked his coat. “You could have ruined my outfit!”

The seamstress scoffed. “I’ll have it fixed up by morning. I did it to make a point.”   
  
Mao Mao let go of his coat, putting his paw against his chest. “And what is that?”

The seamstress chuckled, folding the sash. “Go for a jog once in a while.”

* * *

“Geoffrey Covington, son of James and Elanor Covington. I am Mao Mao Mao, Captain of the…”

Mao Mao sighed, shaking his head. “No, no, that’s too forward.”   
  
Clearing his throat, Mao Mao tapped his chest a couple of times. “Young master Covington, it is an honor to meet you. I am Captain Mao Mao of the... Damn it all.”

Mao Mao slapped the surface of the water in the tub, sending a splash towards the restroom’s tile floor. Bringing his paw back to his forehead, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with two digits. It had been a while since he had been in high society, having instead spent most of his time performing the mundane tasks of an administrator. The last time he had been around people of status was his coming-of-age party, and even then he knew nobody there. This was the first time in the better half of a decade he’d been given the opportunity to start to make himself known, and at his father’s request, no less. As out of his element as he would feel for going, he had to make an attempt.

_ ‘Besides’ _ , he had told himself, ‘ _ it couldn’t be that hard. It’s just rehearsing some lines. It is no different than a fight. Learn your style, read the opponent’s moves, and strike when the time is right. Except the weapon is words and one makes jokes and platitudes rather than slashes and jabs.’ _

“Geoffrey—may I call you Geoffery? You’re looking quite well this evening. Perhaps we should go out on the veranda and get some air? No, no, that sounds too flirty. Oh, Geoffrey! You should visit Kingston some time. I would love to show you around… though you’ve probably already been there, seeing as you’re a noble and…”   
  
Mao Mao tossed the letter to the floor in a huff. “This is stupid. I’m not a wordsmith, I’m a swordsman.”

The tub’s water was becoming lukewarm, and the skin under his fur began to feel pruney. Looking at the clock on the wall, he realized he’d spent the last hour rehearsing his lines to little avail. Standing up, he grabbed a towel and carefully tiptoed out of his bath. He furiously scrubbed his face as he grumbled to himself.

  
“Stupid… bourgeois... soirée. I’ve wasted enough time trying to prepare for this.”

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Mao Mao made his way to his vanity and grabbed a pair of trimmers. Angling his face mirror with his other hand, he focused on the uneven areas of his fur and began to snip.

“I’ll just have to do what I’ve always done best… impress with my looks.”

Finishing his initial inspection, he opened his mouth and dragged a finger along his lips. Pulling his gums aside, he made sure each of his fangs were stainless. Setting the scissors down, he picked up a toothbrush and removed any errant plaque. Once he was content with that as well, he rinsed his mouth out and washed his hands. He brought his wet paws over the top of his head, matting his fur down and combing it into a pompadour. He contemplated his look for a few seconds, his mouth slowly curling into a frown. He ran his paws back through his hair, roughing it up and poofing out his bangs. Testing out a few sassy facial expressions and finding them unbecoming, he quickly discarded the renegade look and made his fur smooth once more.

“There we are. Perfection. I’ll be the beau of this ball.”

He flexed his muscles, holding his arms proudly to his sides and smirking. “Peak physical form. She had no idea what she was talking about.” 

Glancing down at his abdomen, he gave himself a critical look. “Though, maybe I should consider a change in diet… it’s not becoming of me to let myself go if I’m to be meeting with people of status.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the same day as last chapter, at the Covington Estate, a young man internalizes some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you HauntedClock for chadding

The badger’s claws glided over the tips of ivory keys. The gentle sounds of a minuet reverberated throughout the room and down the hallways, filling the estate with song. The padded seat let out the occasional creak as the pianist repositioned himself, and creaked further when he reached forward to flip a page. He had continued like this for the better part of an hour, and his stamina showed no signs of slowing down.

The navy-blue sleeves of his coat ruffled softly against his stomach. During lulls in his performance he brought a claw to his ascot to reposition it with a brief clearing of his throat. A glass of steaming, fresh tea sat on the end of the piano, but it was yet to be tended to.

The sharp clacking of dress shoes against the marble floor preceded the arrival of a new individual. An avian male with a short grey beak and brilliant, brushed-back black feathers entered with a tray in hand.

“Master Covington, your afternoon snacks have arrived.”

The young master grunted, maintaining his gaze on what he was reading. “Ah, lovely. Thank you, Corvus. Please set them by the tea for me.”

Corvus approached the piano and set the tray next to the cup of tea. He brushed his black suit for a moment before pulling a pocket watch out of his jacket.

“The young master has been practicing for quite some time.”

“Have I?” the badger said as he flipped a page, “I suppose you’re right, but it never hurts to get some more practice in, you know.”

“Quite, quite,” Corvus remarked, sneaking a snack from the tray and chewing on it thoughtfully.

“You’ve become rather proficient, Master Covington. I would like to learn your secrets, some day.”

Master Covington chuckled. “Oh, Corvus, stop. You’ll get nothing out of me through flattery.”

Corvus shook his head. “You misunderstand me, sir. What I mean to say is how impressive it is that you manage to play your songs without actually touching the keys.”

The badger’s arms stopped moving as he glanced towards the butler in surprise. The music continued for a couple of seconds before being abruptly cut off. The young master had his right sleeve rolled up to his elbow, revealing an immaculately-crafted metallic facsimile of an arm. A small screen hummed with a bright blue glow from a pulled-back panel, revealing a playlist that was currently paused. Covering his arm back up with his sleeve, he looked up at the butler.

“How could you tell?”

“I just noticed none of the hammers were striking the strings in the back. It’s exceptionally more difficult to fool someone up close than at a distance.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t considered that,” the badger mused, putting a claw to his chin. “You don’t think anyone will notice during tomorrow’s performance, do you?”

“I should think not, Master Covington. You will have a stage all to yourself. None should be any the wiser.”

The badger let out a sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow and readjusting the eyepatch on his left eye. “Thank goodness. You gave me quite a fright there, Corvus.”

“I am merely trying to act in your own best interests, sir. Though, I must ask… do you really believe it wise to shirk your responsibilities when your father expects more and more of you?”

The badger rested his elbow against the piano, putting his forehead in his paw. “Please, not this again…”

“I insist,” Corvus said, placing the tea cup on the tray and bringing it with him. He rounded the piano, standing to the right of the badger. “You’re an adult, Master Covington, and an only son, mind you. You can’t keep hiding away in your room forever. One day you’ll have to take charge of the estate, and the responsibilities that come with it.”

Corvus brought the tray in front of him. The badger helped himself to the tea, hooking a claw around the handle and blowing at the liquid before taking a sip.

“I know, Corvus. I know. That’s why I’m trying to enjoy the time I have left.”

Corvus looked to the piano, noticing with minimal surprise that a book sat in place of where a music sheet should be. The current page was dog-eared, undoubtedly part of another fanciful adventure book about valiant knights rescuing distressed damsels against brutal criminals and supernatural threats.

“You’re an intelligent young man, Geoffrey,” Corvus said, placing a hand on the badger’s shoulder, “and you have a potential for greatness that pales even that of your father’s. But you won’t realize that if you tuck yourself away for the rest of your youth.”

Setting the tray back on the piano, Corvus grabbed the book and closed it. Geoffrey reached for it in a bit of a huff before stopping himself and settling on crossing his arms.

“Then what am I to do?”

“Simple,” Corvus said, offering the book to Geoffrey, “be your own man.”

“If only I had such agency.”

Corvus nodded. “You are under the whims of your father as of now, true. You have a reputation to uphold. His, rather than yours. But there will come a day, and it will come soon, I’m sure, where you will get to live for yourself. Whatever path you decide to take, you must be confident and prepared.”

Despite its emptiness, the thought of having such opportunity in the future brought a smile to his face, wistful as it was.

“Very good,” Corvus patted Geoffrey’s shoulder, placing the book back on the piano. “I suppose I should leave you to practice, then. Don’t forget that dinner is in an hour. Don’t spoil your appetite, Geoffrey.”

Giving the butler a small smile, the badger reopened his book and resumed his ‘playing’.

* * *

The ringing of a small bell alerted Geoffrey to come to dinner. Closing his book and storing it within the seat’s interior, he got up and turned off the music function of his arm. After winding his way along the polished marble halls, he arrived at the entrance to the dining room. The spacious room was finely decorated with a multitude of crystal chandeliers, and a long, intricately-carved wooden dining table with dozens of chairs took up its center. Three chairs at the furthest end of the table were pulled back, and several plates of exotic foodstuffs were set within their vicinity.

Two of the three chairs were occupied, one by an older gentleman in an oversized coat and a tattered top-hat. His fur was completely brown, save for a thick, bushy moustache that was heavily grayed on the whiskers, and similarly bushy white eyebrows. He wore a thick monocle over his left eye, though both of his eyes appeared to be closed. To the man’s left was an equally diminutive woman in a simple solid-purple dress and a pair of golden heart-shaped earrings. She wore a white silk cowl over her head, and sat with her hands in her lap as she smiled towards the new arrival.

“Geoffrey, my boy,” the gentleman called, perking up slightly, “it’s about time you showed up for dinner! The main course was about to get cold. Come sit by your old man and dine, won’t you?”

“Good evening, father,” Geoffrey said with a shy smile and a wave. He casually walked to the empty chair and sat down with an audible creaking of wood.

Sitting next to his father, Geoffrey was reminded once more how much larger he was than either of his parents. It seemed almost unnaturally so, for the frail elderly couple to be the same one that spawned him just over twenty years prior. The grandiose self portraits of Geoffrey’s mother and father that adorned the far wall of the room, which depicted them as figures of similar stature to Geoffrey’s current state, seemed almost comical in comparison to the present.

“Your father and I have been listening in on your performance,” his mother spoke up in a gentle voice, only slightly above the ambient sounds of the kitchen staff in the other room. “You are doing quite well! You’re sure to impress all of your friends at the gala tomorrow.”

“I’d hardly call them  _ friends, _ mother, “Geoffrey insisted softly, beginning to add food to his plate. “Otherwise they would not still call me by that  _ ghastly _ little nickname they’re all so fond of.”   
  


“Oh, quite, that little moniker they used to give you as a youngster,” his father muttered, cleaning his monocle. “What was it… Badgercad… Badgercart?”

  
“ _ If you’re going to make me repeat it _ ,” Geoffrey huffed under his breath, “It was Badger _ clops _ , father. Because of the eye.”

Geoffrey’s father slapped the table lightly. “Ah, yes, that’s it. Badgerclops! Something about it has a rugged charm, don’t you think? An imposing name, if I do say so.”

“I don’t see anything rugged or charming about a birth defect,” Geoffrey said, grabbing a roasted leg of monster meat and beginning to eat. “It’s humiliating.”

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Geoffrey’s mother said, eating a spoonful of soup, “they’re just jealous of you.”

“Not that there’s much to be jealous of,” Geoffrey sighed, looking at his right arm. “At least they get to spend some time out and about.”

“Now, now,” Geoffrey’s mother chimed in, “there’s nothing wrong with staying home and refining your talents. It’s good to excel in what you’re proficient in.”

“Indeed,” Geoffrey’s father nodded, “there’s nothing better out there for you anyway. And you still have a lot to learn. No time to waste, you know?”

The tablecloth ruffled as Geoffrey gripped it between his claws. The bone of the monster leg clattered against the side of his plate as he shoved it away from himself.

“It feels like quite a waste.”

  
Geoffrey’s father shook his head. “No, no, you’ll see. Someday you’ll thank me for doting over you so much. There’s nothing out there for you but misery and filth. You’re safe here, and that’s what’s best.”

Geoffrey looked at his mother with pleading eyes. She glanced up at him, giving him a wistful smile. “You should focus on what’s in front of you. You have a big day tomorrow! Try to not let the stress get to you, dear.”

He wasn’t stressed about the party. He wasn’t stressed about his performance, either. Avoiding people wasn’t an issue, and he had already triple-checked to make sure his faux performance would go smoothly. The tense feeling in his chest had a different source. It was not a feeling of inadequacy or trepidation, but of restlessness.

Geoffrey let out a long, slow exhale. He stared at the tablecloth, feeling tears of frustration begin to poke out from the back of his eye. Taking in a deep breath, he shut his eye tight and did his best to rein in his voice.

“You’re right. Pardon me, mother. I think I should get some air to clear my head. May I be excused?”

“Well, I suppose…” Geoffrey’s father murmured, tapping his digits against the table. “Do make sure you come back and get something to eat before bed, though.”

“Of course,” Geoffrey said, turning away from the table. The welling hadn’t ceased, and now threatened to overflow onto his cheek.

Geoffrey hurriedly walked out of the room, his stained eye making his vision a blur of white. He stopped in front of the door to his room just long enough to thrust it open before walking inside. Shutting the door behind him, he walked to the window at the other end of his room and undid the latch. The early evening air blew into his room, crisp and cool. The scent of rain was carried inside as well, betraying an impending weather front that was moving in from the west. He could see the storm clouds billowing on the horizon, positioned perfectly to ruin an otherwise unobstructed night of stargazing.

Geoffrey leaned into the window sill, his claws digging into the wood as he pressed his hands harder against the wood. The soft sound of scraping was uncomfortable, but the tightness in his chest was worse. His arms quivered as he bit his lower lip, stifling frustrated sobs as he waited for the feeling to abate. It was becoming all too common for him to feel this way, particularly after a long day. The monotony had gotten to him. His home felt more and more like a prison, and his passions had faded to gray.

As the sobbing subsided into the occasional hitched breath, Geoffrey released his grip on the window sill and clambered onto his bed. Another partially-read book laid on his nightstand, its page dog-eared. With a heavy sigh, he procured the book and activated his roboarm’s reading light. It was the tenth time he had read this story, and he was nearing the point of being able to recite its chapters like scripture. Nevertheless, it was his only means of escapism.

“Party, performance…” Geoffrey muttered, turning a page, “what does it matter? When the faces are the same and one day bleeds into another, everything becomes a bore. If I’m certain of one thing, it’s that there’s nothing to look forward to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to push this out yesterday, but had to do some major revisions. Hoping to update this twice a week on average!

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up, because we have a hell of a way to go. Thank you HauntedClock for beta'ing this chapter!


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